'Twas in the schoon-er Kan-da-har, With Cap-tain Wil-liam Shube,
We were a crew of sev-en all told, A hap-py joy-ful crew.
And when we go to do our work We do it joy-ful-ly,
And when we al-so go on shore, We have a joll-ly good spree.

It's also when we go on shore, we dress so very neat.
We try to charm those pretty girls, Which we meet upon the street.
They boldly step up to us And they ask us who we are;
We answer them politely, "From the schooner Kandahar!"

It's then we went to Louisburg A load of coal to take,
Bound down to St. John's, Newfoundland, a quick passage we did make.
Our captain he chartered her there For the island of Barbados.
He says, "We'll get our vessel ready for the favorable winds that blows!"

After thirteen days on passage Our vessel she sprang a leak,
But it not being serious On our same old course did keep.
With the favorable trade-winds a-blowing, We arrived in four days more,
But owing to smallpox raging there We were not allowed on shore.

They wanted to quarantine us; This made our captain mad.
He says, "Give me my orders and I'll go to Trinidad!"
After telegraphing all around, which caused us much delay,
The customs officer came on board and ordered us under way.

So gladly we got under way And went to Trinidad.
After lying there a week or more, Our vessel was leaking bad.
We had to go to St. Thomas's To put her on the slip.
I tell you, there we enjoyed ourselves The best of all that trip!

It's then we went to Sant'mingo, And that's a very good port.
We loaded a load of sugar Bound up to old New York.
With the favorable breezes a-blowing, We were getting right around;
We bid adieu to the Yankee girls, For Lunenburg we were bound.

We arrived safely in Lunenburg, The place we love the best;
We opened a jug of St. Thomas's rum And I guess you'll know the rest!
Now much success to the Kandahar With Captain William Shube,
Likewise mate, cook and sailors! We were a jolly crew.

Well I am a little beggarman, a begging I have been
For three score years in this little isle of green
I'm known along the Liffy from the Basin to the Zoo
And everybody calls me by the name of Johnny Dhu

Of all the trades a going, sure the begging is the best
For when a man is tired he can sit him down and rest
He can beg for his dinner, he has nothing else to do
But to slip around the corner with his old rigadoo

I slept in a barn one night in Currabawn
A shocking wet night it was, but I slept until the dawn
There was holes in the roof and the raindrops coming thru
And the rats and the cats were a playing peek a boo

Who did I waken but the woman of the house
With her white spotted apron and her calico blouse
She began to frighten and I said boo
Sure, don't be afraid at all, it's only Johnny Dhu

I met a little girl while a walkin out one day
Good morrow little flaxen haired girl, I did say
Good morrow little beggarman and how do you do
With your rags and your tags and your auld rigadoo

I'll buy a pair of leggins and a collar and a tie
And a nice young lady I'll go courting by and by
I'll buy a pair of goggles and I'll color them with blue
And an old fashioned lady I will make her too

So all along the high road with my bag upon my back
Over the fields with my bulging heavy sack
With holes in my shoes and my toes a peeping thru
Singing, skin a ma rink a doodle with my auld rigadoo

O I must be going to bed for it's getting late at night
The fire is all raked and now tis out of light
For now you've heard the story of my auld rigadoo
So good and God be with you, from auld Johnny Dhu

Come all ye fisher lassies, aye, come awa’ wi’ me
frae Cairnburgh and Cumhrie and frae Inveralochy
frae Buckie and frae Aberdeen and a’ the country roond
we’re awa’ tae gut the herring, we’re awa’ tae Yarmouth toon

Ye’ll leave in the morning wi’ a suitcase in yer hand
be early at the station or ye’ll surely hae tae stand
take plenty tae eat and a kettle for yer tea
or ye’ll like tae die a hunger on the way tae Yarmouth toon

Noo, the journey it’s a langin’, it takes a day or twa
but when ye reach yer lodgings it’s soon tae sleep ye’ll fa’
but ye rise at five, with the sleep still in yer e’e
ye’re awa’ tae find the herring sheds alang the Yarmouth quay

frae early in the morning, tae late intae the naecht,
yer hands are guttin’ herring and they’re looking awful saecht
and ye cry like a wheel when ye put them in the bree
and ye wish ye were a thoosand miles awa’ frae Yarmouth quay

Noo, there’s coopers there and kervers there, buyers, canny chields
lassies at the picklin’ and there’s others at the creels
ye wish the fish had been all left in the sea
by the time ye finish guttin’ herring at the Yarmouth quay

I’ve gutted fish in Lerwick, in Stornoway and Shields
I’ve worked alang the Humber ‘midst the barrels and the creels
Whitby, Grimsby, I’ve worked the country roond
but the place tae find the herring is the quay at Yarmouth toon.